Sides
by Embyr the Scary
Summary: This is....a very sad story about the previous life of Kransha, Shoyru detective. However, she isn't Kransha in here....


Sides  
By rain_hunter  
  
NOTE: This IS already sent in...don't let me catch you copying.  
  
Written Year Two  
Every neopet knows that there is a dire rift between Chia and Lupe, from the beginning of memory. But one thing that I -- Yunak'krhi, the last of the Yls Clan -- find strange; that no one speaks of the great War of Wings, before the true neopians were immortalized by humans and made into 'pets,' (and an unfortunate result, sterility, that has not been remedied yet) when many lived in peace and many didn't. I do not know if they have merely forgotten, or do they wish to forsake their past? Never the mind, however. I will tell you the story, and be free from my guilt.  
  
Siune'nc whistled her reeds, causing them to emit a shrill, high sound and signaled the trainees to land. One-by-one the Shoyru flew in, some positively glowing, others panting, their wings drooping tiredly. She noted that the ones who were doing the exercise correctly were, indeed, the ones exhausted, and she hated to announce that and shatter the smile from those confident faces.  
"All right, you louts," she shouted gruffly -- and hoarsely; all this screaming was taking its toll on her voice. "R'kiin, Tr'lae, up here." Two young Shoyru stepped up, suddenly looking anxious and transparently wondering if they'd done any wrong. Siune'nc was famous for her tirades, but only against those who deserved it. "Good job, Tr'lae. You've to ache before you've really accomplished this exercise. R'kiin, go do it again. Huren, Sco'trin, Har'rul, Wendgen, go with him. The rest of you -- go take a hot bath and get some food. If I know youngsters, you'll be wanting it!"  
And, after watching the trainees begin and shouting a few minor corrections, she retired as well. Siune'nc stretched sore appendages as she clambered over to create a fire with her bit of flint and a scuffed rock. So accomplished, she reclined in her chair while she waited for supper to arrive, and meanwhile creaked. One consequence of today's exertions; her joints positively screamed in muffled agony.   
Siune'nc noted that stormclouds were moving over, dropping the standstill they'd imposed since they had appeared. "And I've no mind thinkin' these bones've wot young," she chuckled, reverting to her own back-of-the-woods accent. Then, uncidden, a blank face entered her mind. Nar'ras, one of the quietest and most brilliant in three age-classes above, had her worried. The girl seemed crazed at times, attacking the target in Arms fiercely, until other students were forced to drag her away bodily, skipping meals in order to practice yet more. Nar'ras was whipcord and bone, eyes growing harder and colder every day. It frightened Siune'nc to the point of mental hysterics.   
She did not know that the one who disturbed her thoughts so was thinking the same. -  
  
Yunak'khri worried.  
He was hunched over the large oak table in his study, currently laden with maps of the terrain surrounding the Shadow Cliffs. Those very cliffs belonged to the Yls, and a very trusted spy had warned him that the Thara -- their enemies -- were training young Shoyrus in bulk, and had brought their oldest and most experienced trainer out of retirement.  
And, as the First Martial of the Yls Clan, he was compelled to assume the worst -- that the enemy would attack in even greater numbers than before. He often pondered this in the privacy of his chambers, the sense of attacking the Yls for their inborn color, black, and thus the Shadow Shoyru. A good-sized faction had been unwilling to give their children to the war and probable death, and so had left, towards the desert. The First Martial cast a wistful glance out the mica-made windows, only to see the outside world gone pitchy-black with storm.  
iAugh,/i he thought, as the too-familiar pressure of a headache massed behind his forehead. Slowly, slowly, as to not rattle his brains against his head, he rose and threw open the windows, a whipping wind lashing him ruthlessly. Despite the pain and watering of his quickly-drying eyes, Yunak'khri felt a rougish energy swell in him, as if the wild glory of the storm had chosen him as a vessel. On impulse, he soared into the night.  
Freedom created a heady draught, and the Shoyru Martial drank of it thirstily, whilst eager lightning spasmed in the sky. Wind under his wings billowed, eliciting a swerving glide. For a few moments, Yunak'khri was free from duty, from troubles and the burden of hopeless ifs. He just -- was.  
Soon enough, though, he came to his senses. Because of the storm, he could spy on the enemy and never worry, since raging weather more often than not provided ample cover. He swerved towards the Thara Compound, observing what appeared to be the last of their new trainees helping each other inside. Yunak'khri was both pleased and dismayed; pleased, because they didn't deserve to be tossed by the elements, dismayed for what it portended towards the Yls. Ducking out of sight of the trainees, he perched in a tree, growing on a semi-flat plateau. Below, a solitary figure practiced with a light rapier, dodging, attacking, and parrying an imaginary foe.   
For a strange reason, he felt a liking for the Shoyru. Like him, striving to become "the best," but younger. And as though privy to these secret thoughts, the silhouette glanced up and shouted something intelligable.  
An angry roar filled his non-existant ears, and he was surrounded by Thara. -  
  
Nar'ras paced in her quarters -- private quarters, because of her spotting the commander of the Yls. But she was not happy. There was more to it than simple revenge; she wanted her hated enemy to die painfully, and slowly. Like her parents had. She knew this, of course, from the spies -- Yls traitors, because it was impossible to imitate the dark coloring of their pelts. Many had tried. Many had died, as well.   
That, above all else, was the driving need behind her rage. Nar'ras vaguely remembered a time when she was happy, and loved, until the seige. Only she, and a handful of others, had managed to get out alive, unharmed. That happy time was, in fact, all that kept her from killing herself -- it would have been too easy.  
But as it was, the ivory Shoyru had word from her Flying instructor that the enemy commander was going to be executed. Quickly, speedily, cleanly. And that alone was enough to cause Nar'ras to shake with impotent rage. Didn't They, as leaders of her people, care how many had died for his actions? Didn't They care how many more had suffered?  
Nar'ras crossed the room, opened the small carved-blairnut box, and took out what seemed, to the unknowing eye, to be a brightly-colored bubble. But with this, this tiny sphere, her rage would be impotent no longer. It had been forged by her sire, blessed by her dam, shaped into a container of souls. With this, she could make the enemy commander experience all he had inflicted.  
Reds, purples and oranges danced gaily inside, swirling erratically as she carried it out, heading for the Prisoners' Containment. There was no one in the halls and for this she was thankful; Nar'ras did not feel like answering questions. The guards let her in without arguing, merely stepping aside. It was her right to see a prisoner she had captured. Entering the sterile grey room, she walked to a special cell, holding the commander. Then, overtaken by hatred, Nar'ras trembled violently until she had taken a seat against the glass of the wall that stood, ever looming, betwixt her and the Yls prisoner.  
For minutes she sat there, simply shaking with a bizarre mingling of emotions. Elation at finally being able to complete her revenge, hatred for her enemy, and an odd sadness. And then, the prisoner spoke in a weary voice.  
"I never thought I'd personally be on this side of the line. I guess being First Martial makes you a tad arrogant."  
Nar'ras was stunned, if only for a moment. He couldn't possibly be talking to her! iBut then,/i said a calm, rational voice in her head, the one who had shouted at her to stop when she raged out of control, iwho could he be talking to? You don't get that far up in the ranks by being insane./i  
"I was like you, young Thara. Whipcord and bone, nothing else in mind except another pactice where I could flee from those who taunted me," he went on. "I never asked to be in this. I was -- recruited." His tone was bitter as he said the last word. Nar'ras ventured to speak, perversely fascinated.  
"'Recruiting'? What's that?"  
"The Yls army was running out of people for this Neo-forsaken war. Thus, they began a process called recruiting. . . .when they say you must go, you must go, or risk the lives of your families. I was only fifteen years old, at the time. . . .and I loved mothers too much to put them in danger, merely to save myself."  
"And?"  
"I rose quickly through the ranks, to now, playing mostly a game of defense. There is nothing more."  
iDefense?/i He dared to claim that, after he had slaughtered so many? Nar'ras felt a rekindling of her anger. "You call sending thousands out to slaughter every Thara inside an officially neutral settlement? What kind of fool do you think I am?" she hissed, watching him though bitterly narrowed eyes. Slowly, he shook his head from side-to-side, still turned away.  
"Rebels. . . .many crazed for their friends and family, determined for revenge."  
The words lashed her like a bucketful of cold water, blasting her into speechlessness with it's uncanny familiarity. Determined for revenge. . . .Hadn't she repeated that to herself, so many nights and years as she retired to bed? Yet stranger than that was the aura of likability about the black scum, oddly mixed with desolation. But he did not make any accusations. Strange. . . .  
"I'm sorry you lost your parents. . . .I lost mine, as well," he said, and straightened, bunching his wing muscles and relaxing them. Nar'ras, for an instant, had the fear that he would fly away -- to be killed, at least. And suddenly she did not feel anger, or rage, or blind vengefulness. It was a feeling that had not shown its face for a long, long time.  
Curiosity. Eagerness. Fascination. And belying that, a species of friendliness.  
"How did you know that I lost my parents?" Nar'ras inquired.  
"One of my mothers lived in that fort. . . .Jy'lin died, too long ago, and left Raniji heartbroken. Finally, she moved to that neutral fort at my insistance. I distinctly remember using the words 'fly or die' to get her to leave. It was hard for her," he noted somberly, "to leave the house that she and Jy'lin lived in for so long."  
"'Fly or die'? That was one of the Thara slogans for the winter campaign."  
"It was one of ours, as well. I've always fancied myself a poet, and wrote a short poem to be read at major ceremonies. I fathom this talking is all useless, though. I'm going to die tomorrow."  
Nar'ras hesitated for a fraction of a second, then plunged on. "I'll. . . .I'll help you escape," she promised, and only shook off the urge to freeze in case someone had heard by a severe application of her will. It was preposterous, really; she'd never known of someone to get arrested for talking to a prisoner. It would have been all over. . . .or would it?  
Unbeknownst to them, two armies were being summoned. -  
  
Yunak'khri didn't really believe that the young Thara would take him out of this magicians' labrinth. Grey everywhere, not a color in sight, and plagued by nightmares to accompany him wherever he went. He stood as she stood, and blinked in surprise to see that she was taller than him by at least a few inches. "Lead me," said Yunak'khri in his almost-but-not-quite gravelly voice. Nar'ras nodded tightly, and swept down the hall.   
The Yls fighter pulled an invisihat from a hidden pocket, putting it on. It occurred to him that the Thara were overconfident; they knew indeed that the cells were a maze to an outsider. . . .iUnless led by one of their own ranks,/i Yunak'khri recalled. No eye turned towards him as he passed by the walls, and he stepped close to the young Shoyru as she walked away from the guards, nodding a salute to them.  
As soon as they came to a window, the Thara turned, and snapped at him. "You might as well take that off now. I hate not seeing who I'm talking to. It gives me the creeps." Turning then, she leapt headfirst out the window, and Yunak'khri followed suit. He almost didn't succeed in snapping his wings open to catch the wind, only the fear of plummeting into hard rock sustaining him.   
For now, the danger was over. The Thara and Yunak'khri were gliding alongside each other when suddenly he realised something --  
"I never learned you name, Thara."  
"Hn. Well, it's Nar'ras, after the warrior Naraz. I always knew you as 'the great bleck hellspawn demon from who-knows-where'," she replied casually. Yunak'khri thought it was a joke, but you never could be sure with Thara.  
"Yunak'khri Son-of-Jy'lin'Raniji, then. Am I really that infamous? I was supposed to be the back behind the Lord Martial. The one nobody knows anything about."  
"You are," she replied seriously. "We have spies."  
Trees, fields and strange dark shapes passed under them swiftly until a roaring came from ahead. Yunak'khri stopped Nar'ras and hushed her, listening quietly to the wish-wash of noises. "There's no strong wind, though!" she hissed in astonishment. For an hour to dawn they hovered, when the sun stained all with fallow gold and revealed the things waiting for them.   
The armies were huge. It seemed as if all regiments had been called, and from their sounds, they wanted blood. Behind him, another vast array of fighters hovered in place. Archers, swordsmen and pikes stood waiting for them, as a hush fell over each and every eye was fixed on the pair.   
Then the cries began. -  
  
"Traitor!" screamed the Thara, roiling like a great wave of malice. Nar'ras simply stared at the immense size, every muscle, with the exception of her wings, frozen. And then -- they charged. Those behind her were the shouts of joy, wildly differing from those ahead. Some inner sense told her to fight, a repitition of the winter march slogan, changed.  
iFight or die. Fight or die./i  
She drew her longknife, balancing it in her palm, now sweaty. Bracing herself was no use against the tidal wave of bodies , colliding and jerking with pain and triumph and battle-fervence. A yell of agony interrupted her reverie, and Nar'ras knew it was Yunak'khri; how, she would have had no idea should she have stopped to ponder. . . .but she didn't. All she acknowledged was that suicidal anger that had driven her so far.  
That's when she started hacking. At anyone, really. She paused to deliver a wounded Yls to their healer, recieving a curious glance as she set off into the fray once more. It was savage delight in killing, and aiding, and killing again. An untamed battle-cry tore a path from her throat. A thought flashed across her mind, a strange word, and a call -- iKransha, come and Be again!/i  
And abruptly, quite abruptly, she wasn't there any more. -  
  
Yunak'khri was infirm, held hostage against his own wishes.  
The first two nights had been plagued by the most bloody and desolate nightmares he'd ever had. A battlefield was everywhere, with blood running in sanguine rivulets into the earth, and the battle-noises oddly hushed. Above it all, a small, lost voice would cry and sing in turn, slow vibrato to wailing helplessness. i"Tammin! Tammin!"/i haunted his every thought whilst awake, waiting for the healers to give him a sleep-help potion.  
Each day he inquired as politely as he could to the healers whether they had found the young Thara he'd arrived with. And every day, they would glance at each other (there were never less than one at any time) and uneasily change the subject. Finally, he demanded it, with all the authority of First Martial behind him, and the threat that he would march out and see.  
"No, m'lord. We haven't found a spotted-white Thara among the dead, nor living." Suspecting trickery, Yunak'khri pressed harder until they gave in. Exchanging another maddening, disheartening look, they helped him out of his bed and down the sterile halls to a solitary tent. One healer, black with fire patterns across his limbs, pulled aside the white curtain separating all others from inside.  
Yunak'khri nearly threw up whatever soup he'd had that day.  
Nar'ras's wiry body was a mangled and bloody wreck, no worse than any other, and yet he seemed weak and shaking, legs and wings together barely able to support his weight. Her dark brown eyes were lucid, although it seemed iwrong/i, somehow, that they should be open, for there was no sense in them. Her -- body's breathing was shallow, and its arm moved jerkily at intervals. Yunak'khri remained until he realised that everyone else had left to eat, and he stepped forward and said a poem.  
  
O, to be together once more,  
O, to see you smile again,  
O, to find you as before,  
My friend, my love, my pain.  
  
Find it within you to look at me,  
See and tell me your desires,  
Until I am gone I will never be free,  
And then I will rest in your fires.  
  
And he stepped forward to gently close her eyes, and left, unheeding the sigh that escaped from Nar'ras's tormented body.  
It lay still.  
  
Author's Note: This happened well before the founding of Neopia, at least twenty years before the idea was discovered by humans (namely, the loved neopets staff =)). Therefore, because humans were not there to keep them from dying, neopets did so in great numbers. Also, the account in which Yunak'khri lived was deleted, and I do not know where, who, or what he is doing. Although I might have an idea. 


End file.
